Escaping Academy security had been disorienting. The temporal dispcement device Alexander had given her caused the world to move in slow motion while she navigated through it at normal speed. By the time the effect wore off, Mia found herself in an unfamiliar district with dawn breaking over New Albion's industrial skyline.

  She made her way back to the workshop, mind reeling from the night's revetions. Alexander had confirmed with scientific evidence what she had experienced firsthand—the connection between worlds, the same soul existing in different forms.

  Slipping quietly back into her bedroom, Mia was struck by a moment of confusion. The room felt simultaneously familiar and foreign—pces for tools she knew how to use for tasks she'd never been trained to perform. She sat at Calliope's workbench and studied her hands in the early morning light.

  "Who am I in this world?" she whispered.

  Ever since materializing as Calliope Winters, Mia had experienced a peculiar doubling of consciousness. She retained her core identity and memories as Mia, but simultaneously possessed Calliope's lifetime of mechanical knowledge and personal history. She could disassemble complex chronometers by instinct, knew the precise tensile strength of different metal alloys, and held memories of childhood lessons at Barnabas's workbench—all experiences that weren't hers, yet somehow were.

  She picked up a tiny gear from the workbench, examining it with expert eyes that weren't entirely her own. The virtual game system had integrated Calliope's knowledge and memories into her mind so seamlessly that she often didn't distinguish between them. This expined why she could discuss advanced technical concepts with Alexander that should have been beyond a mechanic's daughter's understanding—she had Calliope's extensive expertise at her disposal.

  Unlike in Aldoria, where she'd been herself in a noblewoman's role, here she was a hybrid—Mia's consciousness driving Calliope's body and accessing her knowledge. It was both advantageous and unsettling.

  A knock at her door interrupted these reflections.

  "Calliope? Are you awake?" Barnabas called. "There's been a development. You'll want to hear this."

  Downstairs, she found her "father" already dressed and agitated, pacing the workshop floor with a newspaper in hand.

  "There you are! Did you hear the commotion st night? Imperial security raids throughout the industrial quarter." He thrust the newspaper at her. "And look who's pictured."

  The front page showed Alexander Thorne being escorted from a building by Academy guards. The headline read: "ACADEMY DIRECTOR INJURED IN UNDERGROUND LABORATORY EXPLOSION — Rogue Research Facility Discovered in Abandoned Factory."

  Mia's heart raced as she read the article. According to the official account, Director Thorne had been conducting "unauthorized experiments" in a private boratory when an equipment malfunction caused an explosion. He was reported to be in stable condition at the Academy's medical facility, under observation for "concerning behavioral abnormalities."

  "They're saying he went mad," Barnabas said, tapping the article. "Ranting about parallel worlds and artificial realities. The Academy has relieved him of his position pending psychiatric evaluation."

  Mia struggled to keep her expression neutral despite her internal panic. "How terrible," she managed.

  "There's more." Barnabas lowered his voice conspiratorially. "The Midwinter Exposition begins tomorrow, and the Academy has announced a special presentation on temporal science—with all of Thorne's research now under the direction of Professor Holloway."

  The Midwinter Exposition—where Alexander had promised to meet her. Was that still possible if he was under medical detention? Or had he expected this and pnned accordingly?

  "We should attend," she suggested, trying to sound merely curious rather than desperate. "As research for our own innovations."

  Barnabas hesitated. "After what happened to Thorne, I'm not sure we want to draw Academy attention."

  "We have legitimate reason to be there," Mia reminded him. "Lord Pembrooke was so pleased with the automaton repairs that he recommended us for a dispy booth in the independent innovators' section."

  "True enough." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "And I've nearly finished the hydraulic microadjustment tool. Perfect timing to showcase it."

  The rest of the day passed in a flurry of preparation. Barnabas selected their finest creations for dispy, while Mia helped polish and fine-tune each piece. The work was a welcome distraction from her worry over Alexander's fate, and she found herself appreciating Calliope's mechanical instincts. Her borrowed knowledge made the intricate adjustments effortless, fingers moving with practiced precision born of years of training she'd never actually experienced.

  By evening, everything was packed and ready for transport to the exposition grounds. As Mia prepared for bed, she found herself staring at the temporal dispcement device Alexander had given her, wondering if she should try to reach the Academy's medical facility. The risk seemed too great—if she were caught, she'd lose any chance of reconnecting with him at the exposition.

  Trust in the pn, she told herself. Trust in him.

  The Grand Exhibition Hall transformed the Imperial Pza into a showcase of New Albion's technological prowess. Massive pavilions connected by elevated walkways housed hundreds of dispys, from military innovations to domestic conveniences. Airships circled overhead, occasionally descending to drop specially invited guests directly onto the central nding ptform.

  Barnabas and Mia arrived early, their modest booth situated in the Independent Innovators' Pavilion—far from the Academy's grandiose central dispy, but still respectably positioned. They arranged their creations carefully: precision chronometers, miniature automatons, and Barnabas's pride—the hydraulic microadjustment tool that could manipute objects at microscopic scales.

  "Remember," Barnabas cautioned as opening time approached, "we're here to make connections with potential clients, not to draw unnecessary attention. Be polite to Academy representatives, but volunteer nothing about our methods."

  Mia nodded, though her attention was focused elsewhere. According to the exposition program, the Academy's temporal science presentation was scheduled for 3 PM at the Central Pavilion. Professor Holloway would personally introduce the "breakthrough developments" of the Tempus Project.

  As the doors opened and visitors flooded in, Mia alternated between expining their devices to interested patrons and scanning the crowds for any sign of Alexander. Their booth drew modest but appreciative attention—mostly from fellow mechanics and mid-level industrialists who couldn't afford Academy innovations.

  Around noon, an unexpected visitor approached—a woman in the uniform of an Academy archivist, her dark hair streaked with gray, her manner quietly authoritative.

  "Miss Winters?" she inquired, eyes revealing nothing.

  "Yes?"

  "My name is Dr. Eleanor Bckwood." The woman's voice was barely audible above the exhibition noise. "I need to speak with you privately about a mutual acquaintance. Behind the refreshment pavilion in twenty minutes."

  Before Mia could respond, Dr. Bckwood moved on, examining other dispys as if their interaction had never occurred.

  "Who was that?" Barnabas asked, returning from his conversation with a potential client.

  "An Academy archivist. Just curious about our chronometer designs." The lie came easily, though it made Mia uncomfortable to deceive the man who, in this world at least, was her father.

  Making an excuse about needing refreshments, Mia slipped away from their booth. The area behind the refreshment pavilion was retively secluded—a small garden area where exhausted exhibitors took breaks from the noisy halls.

  Dr. Bckwood was waiting, seated on a bench partly concealed by ornamental shrubbery. "Thank you for coming, Miss Winters." She gestured to the space beside her. "Please, join me. We don't have much time."

  Mia sat cautiously. "How is he?"

  "Physically recovered. Mentally..." The woman sighed. "The Academy cims he suffered neurological damage from exposure to temporal radiation. In reality, they fear what he's discovered." She extracted a small envelope from her jacket. "Alexander asked me to deliver this to you. We've been friends since his university days—before the Academy changed him."

  The envelope contained a small gear made of unusual iridescent metal and a note in Alexander's precise handwriting:

  "The presentation is a trap. They're monitoring for temporal resonance patterns matching yours. Meet me instead at dock 7 of the aerial ptform at 2:45. This gear is keyed to your unique frequency—it will disrupt their scanning devices. Wear it close to your heart. —AT"

  "Thank you," Mia said, tucking the gear into her bodice. "Is he truly alright?"

  Dr. Bckwood's expression softened slightly. "He said you'd ask that. Whatever is between you clearly matters to him—I've never seen Alexander risk his position for anyone before." She stood, straightening her uniform. "I should return before my absence is noted. Take care, Miss Winters. The Academy does not forgive those who challenge its authority."

  After the archivist departed, Mia returned to their booth with renewed hope. Alexander had escaped Academy control and arranged to meet her—but how to slip away without arousing Barnabas's suspicion?

  The opportunity came unexpectedly. Around 2:30, a wealthy industrialist expressed serious interest in acquiring exclusive rights to Barnabas's hydraulic tool. Their negotiations required detailed technical discussion and demonstration.

  "Can you manage the booth for a while?" Barnabas asked, eyes gleaming with excitement at the potential deal.

  "Of course," Mia assured him. "Take all the time you need."

  As soon as they departed for the industrialist's private viewing room, Mia informed a neighboring exhibitor that she needed a brief break, then made her way toward the aerial ptform. The iridescent gear felt warm against her skin, pulsing faintly in rhythm with her heartbeat.

  Security was tight at the ptform access points, but Mia noticed service staff moving freely through a separate entrance. Borrowing an abandoned service coat from a maintenance area, she blended with a group of refreshment workers heading up to the ptform.

  Dock 7 was at the far end—a smaller nding designed for private airships rather than the rge public carriers. As 2:45 approached, Mia positioned herself behind a maintenance shed with a clear view of the dock, which currently stood empty.

  Precisely on time, a sleek airship approached from the north—smaller than the commercial vessels, with a streamlined design that suggested both speed and stealth. It docked with barely a sound, its polished surface reflecting the afternoon sunlight.

  The gangway extended, and a figure emerged—not Alexander, but a uniformed pilot who scanned the ptform before motioning toward Mia's hiding pce.

  Heart pounding, she stepped out cautiously. The pilot nodded in recognition.

  "Miss Winters? Director Thorne is waiting. We must depart immediately."

  Inside, the airship was luxuriously appointed but clearly designed for function over ostentation. The pilot led her to a private cabin where Alexander sat studying a collection of documents.

  He looked up as she entered, and the relief in his expression was palpable. "You made it." He rose to greet her, the formal restraint of Director Thorne momentarily repced by something warmer. "Dr. Bckwood delivered my message, then."

  "Yes. Are you alright? The papers said you were injured in an explosion."

  "A convenient cover story." He gestured to her seat as the airship hummed to life beneath them. "The Academy prefers not to admit that one of their directors escaped custody after being diagnosed with 'temporal psychosis.'"

  "Where are we going?"

  "Somewhere the Academy can't track us." Alexander returned to his usual precise manner, though his eyes remained softer when looking at her. "I've acquired a property in the Northern Territories, outside Imperial jurisdiction. We'll be safe there while I complete the necessary preparations."

  "Preparations for what?"

  "To expose the truth." He activated a holographic dispy showing the same multi-dimensional mapping she'd seen in his underground boratory. "The Academy has been aware of the artificial nature of our reality for decades but concealed it for strategic advantage. My 'unauthorized research' confirmed what they've long suspected—that our world is part of a constructed universe with governed parameters."

  The airship banked gently as it gained altitude, New Albion's sprawl shrinking beneath them.

  "What about Barnabas?" Mia asked suddenly. "He'll worry when I don't return."

  Alexander handed her a sealed letter. "This expins that you've accepted a special apprenticeship at my private research facility. It includes compensation generous enough to secure his future and references to influential patrons who will support his work in your absence."

  The thoroughness of his pnning impressed her, though she felt a pang at leaving Barnabas without a proper goodbye. Despite knowing he wasn't truly her father, she'd grown fond of the gruff, principled mechanic.

  "The Academy will question him," she realized.

  "Yes, but they'll find nothing suspicious. To them, this will appear to be simply a brilliant director recruiting extraordinary talent—unusual, but not unprecedented." Alexander's expression darkened. "Though they'll certainly be searching for us."

  As the airship stabilized at cruising altitude, Mia studied Alexander, noting the subtle changes since their st meeting. He still carried himself with Director Thorne's analytical precision, but there was more animation in his face, more emotion in his eyes. The recovered memories of his life as Kael had integrated with his current identity, creating something new—neither fully the cold scientist nor the honorable knight, but a blend of both.

  "Your memories from Aldoria," she began carefully. "How much do you recall?"

  "Most of it now. The training sessions. The locket with my family. The shadow creatures." His voice softened. "Us."

  The simple word held volumes. Mia felt her cheeks warm under his gaze.

  "It's a strange experience," he continued, "holding two sets of memories simultaneously. As Kael, I was a warrior driven by duty and honor, haunted by failure. As Thorne, I've been a scientist consumed by rational inquiry, dismissive of emotional connections." His lips curved in a faint smile. "Both found themselves drawn to you, despite their natural inclinations."

  "And now?" Mia asked softly. "Who are you with both sets of memories?"

  Alexander considered this, his scientific mind analyzing the philosophical question. "Neither fully one nor the other. Kael's emotional depth tempers Thorne's cold rationality. Thorne's analytical skills give context to Kael's instinctive understanding." He met her eyes directly. "But both identities share one certainty—a connection to you that transcends rational expnation."

  The airship soared northward, leaving New Albion and its Academy behind. Forests and mountains passed beneath them as the sun began its westward descent. Inside the cabin, Mia and Alexander discussed the implications of his discoveries—the nature of their constructed reality, the entities that might have created it, and most importantly, the possibility of finding more connected souls across different worlds.

  Neither knew they were being pursued. Far behind them, a sleek bck Academy vessel tracked their course, Professor Holloway standing on its bridge with the cold determination of a hunter who has finally located his prey.

  And beyond all of them, in dimensions imperceptible to human senses, ancient watchers took note of a soul beginning to remember its fragmented nature—a development that had not occurred in countless eons of carefully maintained imprisonment.